


the boy in the red hoodie

by nxttime



Series: Talon!Dick's maneuvering through life [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: And feels, Bruce is always gonna be a good dad, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Fluff, Fluff and Feels, Gen, I had fun writing this, Jason Todd is stealing Bruce's tires again, No proofreading we die like mne, Romani!Dick, Talon!Dick, dhfbksdg, it was so self-indulgent, latino!Jason, ngl, the two f's you need in life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime/pseuds/nxttime
Summary: One day after patrol Dick finds a certain little someone with a tire iron.He's thoroughly amused.





	1. Steals for his food. Fights for his life. Survives, doesn't live

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote “Zitka” (which you *should* read before this one) and immediately thought to myself, “Okay but what about Dick and Jason first meeting?” and bam! Here this is o3o  
> Dick’s in his N-52 red Nightwing uniform with the fingerstripes.  
> Ohh, I was listening to Matt Maeson’s “Tribulation” while writing this.  
> I hope you like :D

* * *

Patrol was going smoothly, as it normally did these days. Dick didn’t have a name like Bruce did, but he tagged along in a sleek black outfit that had a long red stripe that went from the middle and ring fingers of his left hand, up his arm and over his shoulder, down to his chest, then up the right shoulder and down his arm to the middle and ring fingers of his right hand. The criminals had taken to calling him Ghost, because they never heard him coming, caught mere glimpses out of their peripherals, and never heard him speak.

He found it funny.

To Dick’s right, Br— _Batman,_ was talking to the Commissioner about something Dick wasn’t paying attention to. Batman would tell him later, if it was something important.

Dick wasn’t amused right now. The Commissioner wasn’t a fan of his, he wasn’t exactly the Commissioner’s number one fan either, and Batman was taking his sweet time talking to the other man. From where Dick stood in the shadows of the chimney, the conversation didn’t seem like it would be ending in the next five minutes.

With a quiet huff of mild irritation, Dick moved, making sure Batman caught a glimpse as he left the roof for the Batmobile, which was parked all the way in Crime Alley.

Rooftop tag was fun.

Flying solo was something Dick didn’t do much anymore, preferring to stick by Batman’s side so he made sure he didn’t kill anyone and for the company. Being alone reminded him of his time as Talon—the things he _did_ as Talon. Dick didn’t like thinking about it. Heading back alone now made him feel equal parts refreshed and apprehensive. Batman wasn’t with him to keep him in check. What if he spotted a crime and had to intervene? What if he went too far?

Stomach rolling at the thought, Dick scowled to himself and landed on the rooftop of the building beside the spot where Batman had parked the Batmobile. He shook his head to banish his thoughts. It wouldn’t do him any good to think about that. What-if’s tended to make him anxious, and anxiety wasn’t something he needed on patrol. It would only serve to distract him, and that wouldn’t do at all.

Dick walked to the edge of the roof, about to put his foot on the edge, when he realized that he was hearing something. A something nearby. Something in the same alley he’d been about to drop into.

He froze and strained to make out what exactly he was hearing when he connected the sounds to something from the Batcave, and his mind reeled. He’d left Batman talking to Gordon, behind him, hadn’t he? Then how could he be working on the Batmobile here, now? Had Batman passed him without his noticing?

The ex-Talon snorted at just the thought. How Batman snuck up on any of the street thugs successfully, he’d never know. There was no way the older man had gotten past Ta—Dick. _Dick. Not Talon, not anymore. Dick. Ghost. Not Talon._

If it wasn’t Batman down there, then, just who was it?

Now curious, Dick poked his head over the side of the roof to see.

He had to remind himself not to laugh and, even then, he had to take deep breaths, hold them, then exhale carefully to keep from making any noise.

When he’d collected himself, Dick looked back down at the scene playing out beneath him in the alley with extreme amusement.

A boy—no more than, what, nine years old?—was going at it taking off the Batmobile’s tires. Dick counted one already missing, hidden behind a dumpster a few feet away.

Crouching on the ledge, Dick made himself comfortable. He wanted to see how long it would take Batman to either arrive to catch the boy stealing his tires, or show up too late with all the tires missing. Dick wasn’t about to stop the kid; if he took all the tires, he’d earned them.

Fifteen minutes later the boy in the red hoodie had three tires off and “hidden away”, and Dick’s amusement was still humming. It spiked when he heard the flutter of Batman’s cape and he saw his guardian drop into the alley, right behind the boy.

He settled in more, now outwardly smiling. This confrontation would certainly be as amusing as the boy stealing the tires was. What child even thought to steal from _Batman_ of all people?

The smile slowly slipped away as Dick began thinking about why the boy would need to steal the Batmobile’s tires. Where were his parents? Why were his clothes so riddled with holes? Why were his shoes so worn— _was that a hole in the heel?_ Why were there so many rips in the sweater he was wearing? _Were those the boy’s bones he could count._

 _A street child,_ Dick thought to himself, lips set in a grim line. _Steals for his food. Fights for his life. Survives, doesn’t live._

Dick was deep in a brood session where he thought about just up and taking the boy with him back home, to the Manor. Bruce would agree with him. Whoever were the parents of this child didn’t deserve to have him if they couldn’t at least _steal_ him shoes. Pick a pocket or two. No, they didn’t deserve to have him at all.

Suddenly, a prepubescent voice piped up, “Try and catch me you big boob!”

He choked, laugher bubbling past his lips.

Batman’s head whipped up at him, the lenses of his cowl wide, and Dick continued snickering as he dropped to the ground in the boy’s path to cut him off.

The boy jerked to a halt, every little muscle he had tensing.

Dick waved, smiling.

The boy cursed, eyeing him.

“Who’re you? That Ghost guy?”

Dick nodded.

“I thought you were just some stupid myth,” he muttered, clearly wary.

In response, Dick shrugged then gestured at himself.

_Well, now I’m standing right in front of you. Proof enough._

The boy frowned.

At some point Batman snapped out of his stupor and took a few steps forward, the boy’s head whipping between Dick and Batman.

When he spoke, his voice was softer than the usual Batman growl.

“What is your name?”

The boy looked nervous, now, and his body radiated his apprehension.

Dick made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, relaxing his stance visibly and making an effort to seem nonchalant and calm. Which he was, so there was hardly much effort that he needed to put into it.

Moments of silence passed before the boy stuffed his hands in the holey pocket of his red hoodie and looked at the ground, kicking at it with a foot.

“Jason. Jason Todd.”

Batman nodded and Dick flashed a grin.

Again Batman spoke.

“Where are your parents, Jason?”

Jason snorted.

“Mom’s dead,” he drawled, kicking at a pebble harshly. “Overdosed in the bathtub.”

Lower, he murmured, “I wasn’t enough to keep her here,” and Dick’s heart began to ache in a sadness that he hadn’t felt before.

Batman faltered for a moment, but you only caught it if you knew how to find it, which Dick did. He itched to move and put a hand on his guardian’s shoulder. Comfort was something that came naturally to him, though he was hopeless if he tried to force it.

Jason continued with a shrug.

“D’nno where dad is. Probably ‘n jail again, best bet.”

Dick looked to Bruce—because Batman was gone, Dick could see it in his stance—then back at Jason.

Wordlessly he walked over, crouched, and pulled the boy into a hug.

Jason hadn’t been expecting it because he made a surprised noise and tried wriggling out of the embrace. Dick merely tightened his hold and tried crooning gently to calm him down.

Eyes flicking up to Bruce over Jason’s shoulder, there was an amused little twist to Batman’s lips.

The ex-Talon huffed a little, at the expression on his guardian’s face, pulling Jason closer.

“Uh… Batman? Wh-what’s he doing? Is this, like, him tryna kill me?”

Dick snorted and Batman actually chuckled. Now it was Dick’s turn to be surprised. Bruce never laughed, at least not as Batman.

 _Jason is special,_ is what he mentally settled on.

“He’s not trying to kill you, Jason.”

Dick frowned. Jason was way too skinny. He could _feel_ the boy’s bones—could count them by poking them if he wanted to—and that was _not_ good. He didn’t like it.

The next question was directed to Dick, he could tell.

“You’re not tryna kill me?”

He liked the boy’s accent. It was adorable.

Dick shook his head and released Jason, straightening and taking a step back, looking up to his guardian.

Bruce gazed back, cowl and everything still on, and Dick pointed at Jason, then simply said, “Home.”

Using his voice was still weird, Dick decided, and it always would be. But, it drove his point home. That would be the only reason he would ever use it.

Jason again made an alarmed noise, and whipped around to face Bruce.

“What does he _mean_ home?”

Bruce stared at Dick a little longer, and Dick nodded sharply once, repeating himself.

_“Home.”_

“What does that mean?!”

“Jason,” Bruce answered slowly, looking to the boy and crouching to meet eye-to-eye, “what Ghost means is that he would like it very much if you would come to live with us, at least for a little while.”

Dick frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant—Dick wanted Jason to live with them _forever,_ not for “a little while”. But he figured Bruce knew what he meant and was, as usual, making it more comfortable for whoever he was talking to.

To his delight it seemed to work. Jason’s body language switched from anxious to doubtful, and his face scrunched a little in the _cutest_ way that made Dick want to pick him up and hug him close. He didn’t, though, because it might’ve made Jason reject the offer.

Bruce spoke again.

“Are you hungry?”

Jason’s stomach growled loudly in immediate response and the boy scowled a little at the betrayal.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Would you like some food?”

The boy eyed Batman warily as he answered.

“…I ain’t got money to pay.”

Dick scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. Jason looked over, nervous and offended all at once, and scowled deeper.

“Jason.” Bruce called the boy’s attention again and waited for him to meet the lenses of the cowl with his teal blue eyes. “You don’t have to pay.”

Jason hesitated, looking back to Dick, who nodded in encouragement, then back to Bruce again. He thought carefully then, finally, spoke.

“…fine.” Quickly, the boy tacked on, “But we start with jus’ food. Then we see if I go with you.”

Dick wanted to laugh, he was so happy, but he didn’t.

Instead, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, fin! I hope you enjoyed it! I have no clue when the next addition to this series will be, but I hope this and the first part can satisfy until then ^^''  
> Lots of love, y'all!


	2. Pity from a boy with nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dick was just barely fighting off his scowl, but Jason was downright glowering as he pulled the hoodie—that was already hiding his face—lower over his eyes._
> 
> _Most irking, however, had to be that Bruce ignored the flashing lights of the smartphones with an ease Dick now envied. His guardian merely continued scanning the food options._
> 
> _“Have you decided on anything?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! So, guess who has news.
> 
> I do.
> 
> Me.
> 
> _it's me i'm the one who has news_
> 
> Okay! So!
> 
> Here's what you need to know:
> 
> Because Dick is an ex-Talon, he has _extremely_ sensitive hearing; it's so sensitive it hurts him sometimes. His eyesight is also highly enhanced, so he's sensitive to light and the subtlest of changes in brightness. To deal with these Dick has hearing aids that help with the noises, and glasses that help with the brightness and light. He always wears both, because _yes_ he's that sensitive to them. (my poor boi)
> 
> In this fic Dick also suffers from dyslexia and ADHD, because I suffer from both and needed to project my frustration onto him for some reason.
> 
> ALSO! Jason is Latino in this fic because Latino!Jason is something I will always love and cherish.
> 
> AND NOW FOR THE UPDATE! I hope you guys enjoy it!!!

Jason _was_ cute. Very cute. Dick wanted to hold the boy close, at all times.

However, though the boy was cute, he was also _thin_ and _bony._ Little boys shouldn’t be _that_ thin.

(Dick didn’t know if he was that skinny at nine. He didn’t remember much from the first two years in the Court)

When he heard someone take a picture, _again,_ Dick’s irritation flashed across his face. He, Bruce, and Jason were sitting in a booth of a Big Belly Burger restaurant. One would think that the place would be empty at one thirty in the morning, but _no._ Of course there were a handful of civilians still loitering inside the dining establishment.

He understood that the sight was a rare one, seeing Batman and _Ghost,_ doing a task as mundane as eating take-out (that Alfred would have their heads for if he found out, Dick realized with a shiver). Seeing Batman in and of itself was rare, but Batman _and_ Ghost? Ghost who, up until present point, had been thought to be nothing more than an urban legend to rival the Talon nursery rhyme (Dick still wondered on just _who_ figured a legend about a serial-killing assassin would fit as a nursery rhyme, and had ever since he’d learned what they were). Both with a _kid?_

Yeah, Dick understood their appall. It didn’t mean he had to _like_ it, though.

So he didn’t, adjusting the volume wheel on the hearing aids he wore—that were disguised as part of the domino—to lower the volume.

(Bruce had been quick to notice his severe sensitivity to even the softest of sounds, and a visit (or a few) to his (new) audiologist later Dick had hearing aids.)

Dick was just barely fighting off his scowl, but Jason was downright _glowering_ as he pulled the hoodie—that was already hiding his face—lower over his eyes.

Most irking, however, had to be that Bruce ignored the flashing lights of the smartphones with an ease Dick now envied. His guardian merely continued scanning the food options.

“Have you decided on anything?”

Jason needed a nudge to realize who Batman was talking to and, when he did, he only lifted his head a little so that the shadows his hoodie casted still obscured his face.

Dick shifted so that his body mass blocked Jason from any onlookers better, and the boy relaxed a bit more, leg bouncing out of a habit Bruce had allowed him (the Court had tried hard for the longest to get Dick to sit still, but he always ended up fidgeting at least a little). Bruce was on the seat opposite to himself and Jason, with Jason tucked close to the window and Dick on the aisle side.

In hindsight, he should have moved like this sooner.

“Yeah,” Jason answered. “A double bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries n’ punch.”

Then he hesitated and added, “I mean, f’it ain’t too much…”

Batman nodded, then looked to Dick.

“Anything you want?”

Dick started to shake his head then paused. He grabbed a menu and frowned at the letters and words as he tried to make sense of them. They mocked and taunted him— _look at the poor little Talon who can’t read or write, what an absolute waste of potential and life._

Bruce and Alfred were doing their best to catch him up academically, but English was definitely his weakest point.

Jaw clenching in frustration, Dick looked at pictures instead. The letters kept switching positions and his eyes kept having to re-focus to make out what _looked_ like a word that made sense—though, Dick supposed he wouldn’t know the difference—and it was giving him a headache.

A picture caught his eye and Dick slid his menu over to Batman and pointed at it.

Batman looked at the image, then back up at Dick. “You want a smoothie?”

_If that’s what that is, yes._

Dick nodded.

“Okay.” Batman put the menu down. “What flavor?”

The question made Dick blink in confusion. What flavor? What did that mean?

“Like,” Dick looked to Jason, who was now giving him a wide-eyed surprised expression as he spoke, “d’ya want strawberry, banana, strawberry banana, blueberry, mango…?”

Pouting, Dick looked back to Batman. He didn’t know what those were.

An idea struck him abruptly, and Dick perked up as he turned back to Jason again.

He gently poked the boy’s chest and asked, “Pick?”

Jason raised a doubtful brow. “You want _me_ t’pick your drink.”

Was that really hard to believe?

Huffing, Dick nodded.

The boy blinked stupidly.

“Huh,” was what he finally said. Then the child turned to Batman and chose, “Strawberry banana.” Jason glanced over at Dick. “‘e seems like the type’a guy t’like that.”

Batman just nodded.

Silence lapsed over them soon after that, but Dick didn’t like the silence. It reminded him too much of _then,_ and Batman knew it, so his guardian started a conversation with Jason about cars.

Jason’s eyes lit up as he began discussing models and whatnot with Bruce, and Dick loved the happy glint in the teal eyes. It looked _right._

And he smiled again.

Their waiter came over and Bruce placed the orders, pausing the conversation with Jason (who’d hidden his face again as soon as he’d noticed the waiter approaching) as he did, and the waiter said the order would be out in about fifteen minutes.

In the meantime, Bruce and Jason kept up their conversation and Dick tried to follow along best he could, though most of it was lost on him.

Since he couldn’t offer much of any input—even if he _did_ understand the difference between a Ferrari and a Lamborghini—Dick picked up a crayon that the waiter had given Jason and began coloring on the back of Jason’s paper menu that had smiling characters without color.

Tilting his head, Dick pressed the crayon down harder on some parts and almost barely brushed it against the paper on other sections. He lacked in Language Arts, but he made up for it in Math and the other Arts (or, well, that’s what Alfred told him).

“What’re you doing?”

Talon froze, its hand tightening around the contraband it held, leg instantly stilling, muscles going taut. What was it doing? Why was it… _coloring?_ Talon didn’t remember sneaking any paper or coloring tools into its room, so how—

“Ghost.”

Dick blinked, breath coming a little sharp, as he realized where he _actually_ was: in Big Belly Burger, Jason sitting next to him, Batman/Bruce directly across from him with a hand on one of Dick’s.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then exhaled through his nose and forced his muscles to drain their tension.

Opening his eyes again, and lifting his head, Dick’s domino-hidden gaze met Batman/Bruce’s own lens-covered one.

The subtlest twitch of the man’s lip expressed what he didn’t say.

_Are you alright?_

Reciprocating the unverbalized communication, Dick tilted his head down a little.

_Yes._

Then he slid his hand out from under Batman’s gauntlet and squeezed it as he did, fingers drumming in the fidget that couldn’t be trained out of him once his hand was free.

_Thank you._

“What jus’ happened?”

Dick had forgotten Jason was there for a handful of seconds.

Wincing internally he turned his head to the boy, then looked to Batman for help.

Batman pondered what he was going to say, looked to Dick, waited for him to nod, then frowned and looked back to Jason.

“Ghost had a very… _unpleasant,_ past,” he oversimplified.

Jason’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What, so, like mine?”

Dick shook his head, and Bruce said, “Worse, actually.”

The boy’s expression became doubtful and he raised a brow. He glanced to Dick, saw the strained expression on his face, then frowned.

His eyes flicked back to Batman.

“How bad?”

Dick flinched at the question—actually _flinched—_ and Batman motioned to Dick’s bodily response. Jason’s eyes widened at the reaction, and he exhaled softly from his mouth.

 _“Bad,”_ Batman finally said, as Dick’s leg slowly resumed its bounce.

Like it’d been summoned, the food arrived then to save Dick from Jason’s clear look of curiosity, alarm, and slight pity.

_Pity from a boy with nothing. That’s a new level of sad._

Dick’s smoothie was placed before him, and he squinted at it for a second before plucking—“That’s a straw, Ghost.”—a _straw,_ from the table and st—“Y’need t’peel the paper off it.”— _peeled the paper off the straw,_ then sticking it in the drink—“Now you suck on it.” _“That’s what she said.”_ —and taking a sip. Batman fixed the blandest look Dick had ever seen on Jason, who was smiling a crooked grin.

The instant the drink’s taste hit his taste buds, Dick perked up. He did indeed like the strawberry banana, very, _very_ much, and his leg bounced a little faster.

Second Jason’s food was placed before him, along with _his_ drink, and Batman was handed a cookie.

He blinked at the sight of _Batman_ eating a cookie. Dick had seen Bruce eat one of Alfred’s, and that was normal, but never had he witnessed _Batman_ eat a _cookie._

Jason actually choked on his food and started coughing, hitting himself of the chest.

On instinct Dick started patting and rubbing the boy’s back, abandoning his drink quickly, and he smiled at Batman’s puzzled body language.

“Batman,” he tried to explain. “Cookie.”

The words only seemed to confuse Batman even more and, when he could breathe again, Jason laughed _hard._

Dick couldn’t quite laugh, but he was smiling so hard it probably looked like he’d been gassed by the Joker.

Batman sighed but resigned to being the brunt of a joke he didn’t get so long as it made the boys happy. If he could see Dick smile like that by being subject to a hundred jokes he didn’t get, Bruce would do it in a heartbeat, and though Bruce had only just met Jason he’d give anything to see the boy as happy as he was in that moment. They both deserved more than life seemed willing to give them.

After they all finished their meals—Jason took the longest, because he seemed to be savoring every last bite—Dick, Jason, and Bruce exited the restaurant. Only when they were several feet away from the restaurant did Batman tell them that he hadn’t minded the photos because he’d had a signal jammer active the instant they’d walked in, so none of the photos had been saved or ever really taken.

Satisfied Dick turned to Jason and crouched to the boy’s level, the lenses of his domino meeting Jason’s sharp teal gaze.

They were in the alley a couple of buildings down the Big Belly Burger, now, and nobody was around. It was just Dick, Jason, and Batman.

“Home?”

Dick asked the question softly, and waited patiently rocking on the balls of his feet.

Jason glanced up at Bruce, who stood behind Dick with a gentle expression on his face. A gentle expression, for Batman, wasn’t the most obvious thing. The hard lines around his mouth softened, the lenses of the cowl widened a little from their usual squint, and his body loosened.

The former Talon had little doubt Jason didn’t know about Bruce’s calm. He was a very perceptive child, Dick had noticed, because immediately after they’d made it one building away from the dining establishment Jason had asked about the hearing aids. When Batman asked him what he was talking about, Jason explained he’d noticed Dick’s subtle volume adjustment. Impressed, Batman explained what he could without giving up too much detail.

So, as he waited, Dick wasn’t concerned with Jason’s silence. The boy would answer in his own time.

(Dick just hoped he’d go with them willingly, because both Bruce and Jason wouldn’t be very happy if Dick took him with them by force)

Finally Jason answered, “Only ‘f _you_ want me t’go too,” jutting his chin out and up in defiance, locking gazes with the lenses of Bruce’s cowl.

Dick twisted his torso a little to look back and up to his guardian. He was unconcerned. Bruce had clearly taken to Jason, and better that Dick had.

His heart leapt crazily in his chest from joy and excitement when Bruce opened his mouth to say, “I would be more than happy to welcome you to my family, Jason.”

Grinning, Dick faced Jason again to see the boy’s apprehension melt into something… vulnerable. He was just a child, and just how _young_ he was slapped Dick in the face for the second time that night.

So Dick yanked him into a hug, placing a hand on the back Jason’s head, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

Jason buried his face in Dick’s shoulder and fisted what he could of Ghost’s uniform as he returned the embrace.

Bruce laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder and Jason’s back, and Dick smiled up at his guardian.

When they broke the embrace Dick straightened, hand still in Jason’s messy waves, and he fixed a brighter grin on his new little brother.

Jason cracked that crooked smile of his. “So cool. I just got adopted by _Batman.”_

Dick laughed.

Pausing to think a little for a few seconds, he grinned when he got _it._

_“Aripa Mica.”_

Confused, Jason asked, “What?”

Dick repeated himself in English.

“Little Wing.”

Bruce grunted, smiling a little. “Ghost enjoys giving us nicknames.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason challenged, arms crossed playfully. “What’s yours?”

 _“Mântuitor,”_ Dick cheerfully supplied.

At Jason’s look of utter puzzlement, Bruce translated.

“It means savior in Romanian,” he explained. “Ghost’s first language isn’t English.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he looked to Dick. “Really?”

Dick nodded, readjusting the volume of his hearing aids to the setting he normally kept it on.

“So he’s like me?”

He paused, looking to Bruce in confusion, then back at Jason.

Bruce had a similar reaction and said, “Your first language isn’t English?”

Jason hesitated, speaking slowly.

“Sorta? Mom ‘n Willis spoke lots’a Spanish, so I learn’d English more ‘n school. Picked it up ‘n the streets, too.”

It made sense in Dick’s opinion, so he shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Cool,” he said.

Then he was pressing a button on his gauntlet to call his motorcycle, and Batman pressed a button for his own motorcycle as he spoke.

“We’ll stop by the Batmobile to replace the tries—”

Jason snorted and muttered a low, “If they’re still there.”

“—then head home for the night. Ghost is heading straight back to Penny-One.”

“Penny-One?”

 _“Bunic!”_ Dick chirped with a smile on his face.

Batman looked at Jason and translated, “Grandfather.”

“Oh.”

With a low _‘skirk’_ Dick’s motorcycle pulled up beside him, and he mounted the vehicle.

Smiling at the wide-eyed look Jason was now giving the sleek bike, Dick reached out to press two fingers to Jason’s wrist, right where he could feel the pulse.

Jason looked to Batman as he mounted his own bike, and Batman glanced to see what Dick was doing.

“It’s his version of goodbye or hello. His way of reassuring himself that you’re alive and okay.”

Dick’s smile sobered a little, though it remained.

Jason looked back down at Dick’s fingers, then he twisted his hand so that he was holding Dick’s the same way Dick had his.

The personal significance it had for Dick made his heart flutter; Bruce had never done that. He’d simply let Dick calm himself by way of checking his pulse. Jason was returning the gesture—showing he _cared._ Dick knew Bruce cared about him and loved him, but _this_ held so much meaning for Dick that it made his eyes water to _finally_ have the reassurance he’d needed. The confirmation that, _I love you too, and I value your life,_ without actually saying it; by using _his_ preferred language instead of the common verbalization…

It struck a cord in his heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Dick slid his hand out of the grip and revved the bike, then was out of the alley like a shot.

He _so_ looked forward to seeing Jason at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's all folks! Thanks so so much for the kudos and comments you've already left, and thanks more than you can imagine if you leave any more!  
> Until the next addition to this series! <3


	3. A far cry from normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jason rolled his eyes and pulled his hand out of Dick’s._
> 
> _“Shut up, asshole.”_
> 
> _“Didn’t say.”_
> 
> _“Yeah but you gave a look. S’the same as talkin’.”_
> 
> _“Wrong.”_
> 
> _“Am not!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this thing keeps getting updated even though every chapter is the "last one" and it's basically gonna go like that? This grew into a strig of connected one-shots without me noticing so, a-ha. ha.  
>  _helpmesomebodyplease_  
>  *claps hands* ANYWAYS.  
> Yes this was very much fun to write, and I hope you guys enjoy it :D

Jason had been living with them for six months, now.

He was enrolled in Gotham Academy; a school Dick would have attended had he not been seventeen when Bruce freed him from the Court. Dick’s little brother was at the top of all his classes, with a solid 4.0 GPA, was settling in with them slowly but nicely, and was already almost at a healthy weight for his age.

Oh, and Dick learned that he was actually _eleven,_ not nine.

Little Wing “flipped shit”—as he put it later on—when Batman pulled his cowl down to reveal his identity as Bruce Wayne, and Ghost peeled the domino mask off to become Dick Grayson. Bruce Wayne, the multi-billionaire, and Dick Grayson, his ward for a year.

It was hilarious.

Dick smiled as he thought back on it, having just finished a lesson with Alfred and now heading to the indoor gym Bruce installed for him.

“Sir?”

Pausing, Dick twisted his torso to look his grandfather in his warm brown eyes.

As Jason adjusted to his new life, Dick did too. He still preferred to hold his silence but, on some occasions, he would speak more than a few words at a time. The word ‘Master’ still made him flinch, though, so Alfred had decided on calling them all “Sir” or “Sir” and then their first names. It was a kindness that did not go unnoticed by the ex-Talon, and he was forever grateful. Sometimes Alfred simply called him by his first name. Those were moments that he always ended up cherishing and holding close to his heart.

He hesitated a second before saying a soft, “Yes?” and adjusted the blue-framed glasses on his nose.

Alfred smiled kindly, no doubt proud of his grandson for the verbal response. “Lunch will be ready by six thirty so I only ask that you eat small snacks, if you _must_ eat something.”

Dick returned the smile and nodded. Six thirty wasn’t for another two hours. He had time.

“Okay.”

Satisfied, Alfred placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder and squeezed it before turning for the kitchen. Jason would be arriving from school in about an hour or so and would, like always, force the old man to let him help prepare the meal, determined glint shining in those teal eyes.

Dick resumed his walk for the gym, humming to himself in his head.

When he reached the large room, he slid the phone Bruce had gotten him out of his pocket to play some music.

Pausing before turning the device off once _Crossfire_ by Stephen was playing, Dick opened up the text message thread he had with Jason. Looking at his texts, his responses were always short—always “Hi”, “Okay”, “Yes”, “No”, or even “I’m fine”. Jason was the one who kept the conversation flowing with Dick’s one-worded prompts.

He smiled a little and typed a quick message before turning the phone off.

_Dick: Hi._

As he wrapped up stretching, maybe ten minutes later, he heard the phone chime with a new message.

Reaching over to grab it, he smiled just seeing Jason’s contact name pop up on his screen. Jason’s name and nickname were words he’d dedicated himself to being able to read, so now he could. Often, though, when he texted, Dick had to use text-to-speech since he couldn’t read a good half of the sentences Jason (or anybody he texted, (which was, like, Bruce or Alfred if he wasn’t texting Jason) really) sent.

The smile started to fade when he could perfectly understand the response.

_Little Wing: Hey._

Biting his bottom lip, Dick tried to remember how to spell out his question of, “Is something wrong?”

Dick decided to try sounding it out the way Alfred taught him. He knew how to spell the word “is” and “wrong”, but still struggled with longer words like “something”.

“Something. S-omething. S-o-m-e. T-h-i-n-g. ”

As he sounded the word out, Dick tried typing it.

_Dick: Is something wrong?_

He may have made a noise of pride when the word wasn’t underlined or highlighted the way words normally were whenever he spelled them wrong, basked a little in silent celebration, then hit send and started a new song before heading over to powder his hands and start his routine.

The phone chimed again when Dick was on the rings, hanging from them upside-down, sweat dripping off his nose to the mats below. At the gentle _ping_ he looked up where he left his phone and quickly rightened himself so he could drop down.

When he landed with a near-silent _thump,_ Dick stood from his crouch and went for a towel before grabbing his phone. As he wiped the sweat from his face, glasses hanging from the collar of his shirt, he opened the thread to read Jason’s answer.

  _Little Wing: Nah._

Dick frowned as he hastily replaced his glasses on his face, doubting his Little Wing was fine. If he were truly okay, he would have started talking about how school went, who did what, how much Mrs. Barley sucked, how he was doing making friends, etcetera. But all he’d sent so far had been “hey” and “nah”.

For once, Dick was talking more than Jason.

Deciding that he couldn’t do anything until Jason got home, Dick went to take a shower, frowning the entire way.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and hair still dripping a little, Dick raised a brow at the boy who was sprawled on his bed, face down and clothes dirty and torn.

He ignored Jason and grabbed clothes to put on. Walked back to the bathroom to get dressed. Exited with his glasses on and flopped down on the spot to Jason’s right, hands linked behind his head, right leg bent and foot tapping on the bed, facing the ceiling.

Then he waited.

“I fmuckn’ hate school.”

Dick hummed, understanding the curse word for what it was even if it was muffled.

“Assh’ls, th’ lot f’em.”

Another hum.

Dick asked, “Why?”

Jason flipped onto his back, arms still eagle-spread, and sighed as he stared at the ceiling like Dick was. The older brother looked over at his Little Wing and went rigid at the bruising eye and split lip.

_Who **dared.**_

Seemingly ignorant to Dick’s sudden stiffness Jason said, “I really hate ‘em. Like, a lot.”

_“Who?”_

“What?”

Dick extended an arm and gently tapped the yellow-ish bruise, face hard.

He repeated himself coolly.

“Who.”

Jason glanced over at Dick, saw his strained posture, and frowned a little. He grabbed the hand that tapped his face and maneuvered Dick’s hand so that his left index and middle fingers were on Jason’s pulse point.

Dick closed his eyes and took a long breath through his nose, the steady and strong pulsing calming him some.

“M’fine, Big Bird. Just got n’a tousle with some dickless pieces o’shit.”

Opening his eyes, Dick raised his brows in amusement, smirking a little.

Jason rolled his eyes and pulled his hand out of Dick’s.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Didn’t say.”

“Yeah but you gave a _look._ S’the same as talkin’.”

“Wrong.”

“Am not!”

“Yes.”

“Oh yeah? So, when B gives those looks s’not the same as him bein’ gooey?”

“…”

“Ha, yeah, bastard. Got’cha there didn’t I?”

Dick grinned and ruffled Jason’s hair, the younger boy squawking in surprise and batting Dick’s hand away.

“Smart,” he praised his little brother.

“Duh,” Jason answered, pink lightly dusting his ears.

Anger still boiled in Dick’s veins, but he forced it down to talk with Jason.

Smile slipping away into a more serious expression Dick said, “Jason.”

His little brother understood everything not said with the single word and heaved a dramatic sigh, turning his head to look up at the ceiling again.

Dick mimicked the action, replacing his hand behind his head.

He waited again.

Not even five minutes later, Jason spoke.

“They were talkin’ shit ‘bout my mom. Bruce. N’you too.”

If he were being honest, Dick couldn’t say he was surprised to hear that last part. People spoke ill of him all the time. Maybe they thought they were being slick whenever they did it at the galas Bruce threw, or secretive. And maybe, in a normal case, they would be.

But Dick’s case was never a normal one, from what he’d learned about his past and where he came from.

How could he even pretend to be? He was born and—up until _the day_ —raised in a circus. Then he was kidnapped and trained to be a professional assassin by the age of thirteen. Fourteen, latest. Skip a couple of years and Batman completely obliterates the Court of Owls operations, freeing Dick and a handful of other Talons in the process. The others were older than Dick was, so they’d moved on to attempt normal life.

Dick? He’d become the ward of the richest and most eligible bachelor of Gotham.

Yeah, no, his case was a far cry from normal.

So he didn’t really care about all the shit talking. Why would he? Jealousy got to people’s heads, he knew and understood that, so there wasn’t much for him to hold against them. He just smiled and pretended to be naïve, whenever he ran into the bad-talkers.

It was hard for Jason to do, though. He always had a smartass remark to retaliate against the sharp implications and meanings hidden like tiger traps with nets of flowers over deep ditches with spears meant to kill.

Jason was smart, to the shock and horror of Gotham’s “elites”—which Dick didn’t really understand. Everyone knew Jason’s story; therefore, they all knew he came from the streets. To survive on the streets, _alone,_ required intelligence. That was just common sense which Gotham’s elite apparently lacked.

Dick also wasn’t surprised to hear about the Bruce badmouthing. He’d reacted negatively to that too, but Bruce calmed him down every time. He always knew how to, it always worked, and everyone lived. Happy day.

But Jason’s _mother?_ His deceased mom? The woman who gave birth to him and raised him the best she could for as long as she could?

That crossed a line.

Dick jolted out of the bed and his hands itched for something to punch or break. His eyes darted around the room, looking for _something,_ but he couldn’t settle on anything to break because he didn’t want to upset Bruce or Alfred.

Frustrated, he made a strangled noise and began pacing at the foot of the bed.

Little Wing stretched into a sitting up position and watched his older brother pace a trench in the maroon carpet with boredom and disinterest practically leaking from his pores. It was clear on his face, obvious on his body, and even more evident in his voice.

“What’re ya doin’?”

Dick scowled.

“Upset.”

“’bout what?”

“Mother. Catherine. Shit talked.”

“Oh. Why’re you mad at that?”

Dick paused. Blinked, looked up at Jason. Saw the confusion written in the muscles of his cheeks. Frowned. Said, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

It was probably his longest sentence in a while, and Jason’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise, but he quickly returned to being confused.

“’cause she’s not your mom?”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Not _my_ mom. _Your_ mom. Important to me. Her and you.”

Jason made a face. “M’not _that_ important,” he muttered.

Dick hissed and marched over to him, jabbed a finger in Jason’s chest and snapped, _“Yes.”_

Stunned, Little Wing blinked down at the finger. Looked up at Dick. Two minutes later said, “Okay.”

Nodding to himself, Dick said, “Okay.”

Alfred walked in, then, and saw the boys. He didn’t comment on the edge to Dick’s body language, nor the dirtiness of Jason’s clothes, nor the bruised eye, instead telling them that lunch was ready then leaving them when they acknowledged his words.

When Dick looked back to Jason, he noticed the pained pinch to his little brother’s face.

He poked the tense point.

Jason crossed his eyes to look at Dick’s finger, and looked up at Dick again. “What?”

“Upset.”

“You’re still mad?”

“No. You. Not mad, hurt.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess, you could say?”

“Why?”

“I didn’t help Al make lunch. S’the _one_ thing he lets me help with, n’I didn’t do it.”

“So?”

_“So?_ R’you serious?”

Dick nodded, sitting next to Jason and bouncing his leg again. “Yes.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Shoulda expected that,” he muttered. Louder he said, “I like helping Al. Bein’ waited on…” Jason pulled a face. “Yeah. Nah, no thanks. S’not for me. Nobody’s had t’butler for me before, n’I don’t need _Alfred_ to. I don’t need _anybody_ to. Feels wrong.”

Dick understood that.

Not sure what out of the list of things to say, he instead pulled Jason into a hug.

“Okay. Not mad at you. _Happy.”_

Jason didn’t say anything, but he nodded.

Pausing Dick asked, “Bullies?”

Jason snorted and pulled back to give that crooked grin of his. “F’you think _I_ look roughed up, you should see the _other_ guys.”

Dick laughed and figured maybe he _didn’t_ need to give Jason’s classmates a visit after all. His Little Wing could take care of himself.

As the boys walked into the hall Dick said, “Cute.”

“I ain’t _cute!”_

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

_“Yes.”_

“Absolutely _not,_ you asshole—stop with the looks!”

Dick laughed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until the next update/thing I post!  
> Lots of love to those of you who read, comment, and/or leave kudos. They really make my day ^^


	4. "Ya should see the other guys."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Y’don’t gotta fight my fights.”_
> 
> _“Yet I still do.”_
> 
> _“Your choice.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loOK WHO'S ALIVE AGAIN.

Dick sighed, leaning against the car Bruce had bought for him as he waited for Jason to get out of school, playing a mindless game on his phone. He was glad that he chose to wear the simple t-shirt and jeans that he had, because he could practically feel the heat rising off the concrete from the scalding sun.

He didn’t know how long he was waiting before the school bell rang and children started spilling from the learning facility like a horde of termites.

As he slipped his phone in his pocket, Dick looked around for his little brother and ignored the lingering and hungry stares of the people around him with practiced nonchalance.

Frowning, Dick’s eyes flicked from child to child in his search for his little brother, but he didn’t see Jason anywhere.

“—at Todd kid’s gonna fight Merce? I can’t believe it, like, Merce might get some street disease from that Jason kid’s blood!”

White hot fury started bubbling in Dick’s veins as he turned to look at the group of girls who were talking among themselves in not-exactly-hushed voices.

“Excuse me,” he called, walking over and shoving his hands into his pockets. Talking still made him feel weird, but less so. It _had_ been almost three years with Bruce now.

The girls looked over and smiled at him, eyeing his shirt, which was gross. He was twenty. They were—at _oldest—_ fourteen? Fifteen?

Dick wrinkled his nose a little.

“Hey,” one of the girls in the back of the group greeted, smiling a genuinely kind one. “Can we help you?”

“Yeah, actually, I think you can.” He took the sunglasses he’d been wearing off— _so_ grateful that Bruce had worked with Star Labs and made him specialized contacts—and hung them from the collar of his shirt. “I’m looking for my brother?”

Again, Dick pointedly ignored a few blushes he caught in his peripherals.

“What’s his name,” the same girl asked.

“Jason Todd.”

The name made all the googly eyes sharpen and narrow, the smiles vanishing and being replaced with sneers and pursed lips, and Dick relaxed a little now that the rest were being genuine, smiling a tired and lopsided grin.

One of the girls—a brunette with brown eyes and fair skin—huffed and flicked her hair, speaking.

“That kid’s your brother?” She eyed him, this time critically. “You sure don’t _look_ the part.”

Narrowing his own eyes, Dick said, “We’re adopted brothers. Where is he?”

Dick sighed when the girls all glanced at each other and turned away briefly. He could hear them whispering about “—Wayne needs to slow down—” and “—Todd’s brother is _hot—”_ and he was utterly tired of it.

“Girls,” he said, drawing their attention again. “My brother. Where is he?”

The first girl that’d spoken to him—emerald green eyes and curly brown hair—said, “Well, rumor is he’s gonna fight Merce Hyde today in the P.E. field.”

Jaw tightening, Dick offered a strained smile and turned to walk for the school after saying a quick, “Thank you.”

He didn’t care that Jason was getting into a fight. He cared that he _knew_ that name. Merce Hyde, younger brother to Piran Hyde, a boy Dick’s same age and a renowned jackass even among the higher-class of Gotham.

If Jason was fighting Merce, Piran and a few friends of his were sure to make an unexpected appearance.

Walking was too slow, Dick decided, so he shifted into a sprint as he made his way to the field.

“Damn it, Little Wing,” Dick muttered, shoving past other teens as he ran.

He got burst through the doors that led to the field just in time to watch Jason take a hard punch to the jaw and hit the ground with a cry, and his vision went a little red when he looked to see Piran’s hands stained with some blood.

Their backs were to him and Dick took that advantage. Silently but quickly he stalked forward, making sure to keep his steps silent, grabbing the boy who must’ve been Merce by the back of his neck and yanking him backwards into Dick’s chest.

Merce’s brother turned at his surprised yelp and locked eyes with Dick, halting in his attack on Jason.

“Piran,” Dick gritted out, hand tightening around the boy’s scruff.

“Gypsy,” Piran replied, an ugly smirk rising on his face, putting a hand on one of his friend’s shoulder to get him to stop kicking at Jason. “What’re you doing here? Trying to protect the gutter rat?”

“No,” he replied levelly, shoving Merce to the ground. “Not trying.”

He leapt for Piran, every instinct he had crying out for this man’s blood, every impulse screaming at him to snap their necks for laying hands on his little brother, but he didn’t move to kill. That wasn’t him anymore.

Instead, he made them _hurt._

There were three other boys there, all around Dick’s age and in their primes, but none of them were good enough to get the upper hand in the fight. Dick’s fists broke noses and loosened teeth, they cracked bones and split flesh, they bruised skin and knocked heads around—

They defended Jason.

Dick ducked a wild punch Piran threw and came up with a left hook straight at Piran’s jaw, the blow landing solidly with a muffled crack.

Piran dropped to the ground unconscious.

Turning, Dick glared at Merce, kneeling beside his little brother and collecting him in his arms. Dick knew Jason could have taken them—the boy fought along side himself and Bruce—yet he also knew why he didn’t fight the way he knew how to. He was preserving his identity.

And Dick hated it.

“Never again,” Dick snapped at the cowering boy. He only waited for the frantic nodding before turning and walking away, back for his car. His knuckles might’ve been throbbing, they might not have been, it didn’t matter. He just needed to get Jason home.

Jason muttered something and stirred, shifting a little.

“Little Wing.”

Jason opened the one eye that wasn’t swollen and looked up at his brother, sighing, and rested his head on Dick’s chest.

“M’fourteen,” he mumbled. “Y’don’t gotta fight my fights.”

“Yet I still do.”

“Your choice.”

Dick’s jaw ticked. “No.”

Jason shrugged. “Whatever.”

Shaking his head, Dick ignored the crowd of teens that parted for him when he exited the school again, and beelined for his car. When he reached it, he basically tossed Jason in the backseats before getting in the driver’s seat, starting the car, and leaving the school with the screech of tires on pavement.

In the back, Jason yelped and there was a low _thud._

“Who gave you your driver’s license?!” he cried, hastily buckling himself in.

Dick shrugged. He didn’t remember.

Jason made a strangled noise and pressed himself against the chair.

Roughly thirty minutes later they were home, and Dick slung Jason’s discarded bookbag over his shoulder as his little brother slipped out of the car.

Brows furrowing, Jason grabbed a hand of Dick’s, inspecting his bloody knuckles.

“You’re hurt,” he said with a frown.

Dick again shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt.”

When they walked in through the front door, Bruce rounded the corner with a slight smile on his face that vanished the instant he saw the blood staining Dick and Jason’s clothes.

Dick and Jason shared a look before Jason turned back to Bruce and said, “Ya should see the other guys.”

Bruce faltered and Dick could have sworn he saw a vein burst.


End file.
